Chapter 6 - FIFTEEN YEARS LATERThe champagne flute in my hand was authentic crystal, catching the light of the massive chandeliers above.
"Elena, darling, you look absolutely ravishing," an older, wealthy investor said, kissing my cheek.
"Thank you, Richard," I replied, my voice smooth, cultured, and devoid of the terrified rasp it held fifteen years ago.
I was twenty-two. My name was legally Elena Vance now—a fresh identity carefully constructed over the past four years since I aged out of the foster system. The awkward, scarred little girl was gone. In her place was a woman forged from pure discipline and spite. My hair, once mousy brown, was dyed a striking, icy platinum. My posture was flawless. And my scars were easily hidden by the expensive, high-necked couture dress I wore.
I stood on the balcony of a multi-million-dollar penthouse in Manhattan, looking down at the city. This was the world my mother had stolen to build.
Over the years, I had tracked them. My mother, Evelyn, had used the forged life insurance policy to launch a luxury real estate empire. She was now a celebrated philanthropist, praised in magazines for her "triumph over tragedy."
And Jessica? Jessica had become a socialite. A reality TV adjacent "influencer" whose entire brand was built on generational wealth and arrogant entitlement.
I turned back to the party. Across the room, dripping in diamonds and holding court among a group of sycophants, was Jessica. She was twenty-five now, beautiful, vapid, and cruel.
I took a slow sip of my champagne.
It had taken me two years of meticulous networking, fake Ivy League credentials (hacked into the registrar's database by a contact I made in a juvenile detention center), and relentless social climbing to get into this room.
I set my glass down and walked purposefully across the room, ensuring I bumped directly into Jessica’s assistant—a nervous-looking girl holding a clipboard. The clipboard shattered to the floor, papers scattering everywhere.
"Watch where you're going!" Jessica snapped, turning around to glare at her assistant. "God, you are so useless."
I gracefully knelt down, picking up the papers with a practiced smile. I stood up and handed them to Jessica.
"My apologies," I said, my voice dripping with honeyed charm. "The fault is entirely mine. I wasn't looking."
Jessica paused, her eyes sweeping over my expensive dress and the confident tilt of my chin. She didn't recognize me. Why would she? She thought her sister was a locked-away lunatic.
"Are you the new PR consultant from Vogue?" Jessica asked, her tone shifting instantly to polite curiosity.
"I am," I smiled, offering my hand. "Elena Vance. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Jessica. Your mother speaks very highly of your aesthetic vision."
May you like
Jessica beamed, taking my hand. Her grip was weak.
You locked the door, I thought, looking into the eyes of the woman who had left me to burn. And now, I hold the keys.
Related Stories
